


the distance, inches

by epiattic



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Lance (Voltron), Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Inappropriate Use of a Healing Pod, Injury Recovery, M/M, Multi, Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Unconsciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 01:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9297371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epiattic/pseuds/epiattic
Summary: Just because Shiro’s stuck in a healing pod,just because Keith and Lance haven’t told him how they feel about him quite yet,doesn’t mean they’re going to leave him out of the fun.





	

The pallor of Shiro’s face seems unnervingly unnatural in the bluish light cast over him by the cryo-pod. His expression has resolved, thankfully, from the tense, tight-lipped frown, the deeply furrowed brow, that he wore yesterday. The lines of his face have smoothed in his sleep, his resting face now peaceful, if a little severe in the flat harsh light.

Even for all the good they’ve done, Lance can’t say that he likes the cryo-pods. Sure, they’ve saved his life, saved his friends’ lives, more times than he’s really comfortable with acknowledging. But one also tried to kill him once. He’s never quite going to forgive them for _that_.

But really, that aside, the effect this room itself has on him is anxiety-inducing, isolating, chilling. There’s no reason to ever come in here unless someone is injured. Critically. The association is a bad one, leaves a bitter taste in the back of Lance’s mouth. Especially when no one else is here, Lance can’t help but feel unsettled by the place, and Shiro’s motionless, soundless, sightless presence doesn’t do much to soothe him.

Yesterday Coran had taught Lance how to read the monitor beside the pod. Checking it now for what must be the sixth time in twenty minutes, Lance finds that yep, Shiro still has about twelve Earth hours left to stew in there. He’s not surprised, but he is antsy, scuffing the toes of his shoes against the ground, playing with the pull of his jacket zipper.

Behind Lance comes the unmistakable electric _swoosh_ of the door sliding open, followed by boots falling against the ground. Lance doesn’t take his eyes off of Shiro’s face, not even as the footsteps stop immediately behind him, not even as a pair of arms slide around his torso, pulling him tight.

“Go get some rest,” Keith says against his ear.

“ _You_ get some rest,” Lance replies peevishly, a knee-jerk. His hands rise to lay over Keith’s anyway, where they clasp, twine, seek solace.

“I did,” Keith says.

“Yeah, for like, _an hour_.” Lance snorts. “If that.”

Keith doesn’t reply, and instead Lance can feel him shift against his back. He’s looking Shiro up and down, much like Lance has been doing, repeatedly, for the past day and a half that Shiro’s been in there.

“He’s looking better,” Keith says, and though his voice is carefully even the relief is evident throughout it.

“He’ll be fine,” Lance says, keeping his tone light. But his words are just an echo of the things that Coran and Pidge and Allura had told him when Shiro was first placed into the pod by Lance’s own shaking hands.

Keith bites, bites Lance _hard_ on the junction between his neck and his shoulder.

“Ow, _quiznak_!” Lance shouts, wrenching out of Keith’s hold. “What was that for?”

“You’re thinkin’ too hard,” Keith grumbles. “It wasn’t your fault.”

It _was_ Lance’s fault though, it was entirely. If he had been keeping a closer eye on his surroundings, if he had just double checked his back one more time, fired off another round before moving forward, Shiro wouldn’t have had to take that shot for him. Lance wouldn’t have had to hear his name called, that usually commanding, unruffled voice raised in a panic. He wouldn’t have had to smell the singed flesh, he wouldn’t have had to kill the Galra sentries with a few well-placed shots before running to Shiro and finding that he was already unconscious against the ground. He wouldn’t have had to squeeze Shiro’s limp hand all the way here, and fallen asleep slumped against the front of the healing pod with his tear tracks tight on his cheek.

“Of course it wasn’t my fault,” Lance replies. “I got him out of there. I’m the reason he’s still alive.”

Keith has surely known Lance too long to not see through him as easy as polished glass, but he doesn’t comment on it, instead tipping his head to breathe against Lance’s neck. Keith hadn’t let go of Lance for hours after he’d first come back, even as Lance had pressed his forehead against the surface of the healing pod and murmured half-minded prayers for Shiro’s recovery. Lance knows that if Keith had the option, he would love to do the same for Shiro: to wrap his arms around him, pull him in close, bury his face in his chest and refuse to so much as come up for air.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says, quietly. Both to Shiro, and to Keith. “It…really would’ve sucked.”

“What?” Keith replies. “If Shiro had died? Yeah, no kidding.”

“If Shiro had died without you telling him how you feel.”

Keith is quiet for a long moment. He pulls Lance imperceptibly tighter, gives him a squeeze around the waist. Lance can practically hear Keith going over this situation in his mind as a series of tears and breaks, he can feel Keith grimace against his shoulder.

“You too, though,” Keith says finally.

“Yeah.” Lance sighs. His fingers play against the skin on Keith’s arm, tapping and swirling. Then he pauses. “Let’s tell him.”

“Oh, _now_ you want to?” Keith mouths against his neck. “I’ve been saying that for weeks.”

“Hey, it’s scary!” Lance protests. “We’ve still gotta form Voltron, no matter how this goes.”

Keith pulls away from his back, his absence an immediate cold across Lance’s shoulder blades, before spinning him around so that they’re facing each other. In response to Keith’s hands perched at his hips, Lance trails his fingers up Keith’s biceps, rubs his thumbs against his shoulders. Keith’s eyes flicker around Lance’s face, as though examining him, and then one corner of his mouth quirks up into a grin.

“You were just telling me yesterday how handsome and cool you are,” Keith says. “You think Shiro doesn’t see that?”

Not to be outdone, Lance mirrors Keith’s smirk. He raises a hand to Keith’s cheek, presses his palm there just to watch Keith nuzzle into it instinctively, swipes the pad of his thumb along Keith’s jawline.

“I mean, I guess we _are_ the hottest couple in the universe,” Lance crows. “I’m surprised he hasn’t already tried to get with us, really.”

Keith snorts, and kisses him.

Keith’s mouth on him is hard and aggressive, teeth and force and power. Lance is used to this, used to the way Keith kisses like he’s a predator after his prey. Prey, who, in this case, is Lance, shoved backwards with intense, unwavering purpose until his spine meets the surface of the cryo-pod with a soft _thump_. Keith doesn’t take his mouth away, instead pressing his palms to the glass on either side of Lance’s head, caging him in.

Lance pulls him, tugs at him until their hips are flush. Keith isn’t joking around right now. He’s all in, pulling Lance’s bottom lip between his teeth to bite, thrusting his tongue deep into Lance’s mouth. Lance would be lying if he said that the intensity that always boiled just beneath Keith’s skin isn’t an instant turn-on. It’s difficult not to find himself aroused with Keith under his hands like this, coming at him with all the rush and heat of a wildfire.

Despite their location, Lance grinds his hips forward. Keith grins, wicked and harsh, into his mouth.

“Let’s tell him _now_ ,” Keith says when he pulls back to rest his forehead against Lance’s.

“What?” Lance asks, confusion pulling his eyebrows closer as he raises a hand to pet through Keith’s hair. “How?”

A smirk flashes across Keith’s face, and that’s the last thing Lance sees before he drops to his knees, hands already grappling at Lance’s zipper.

“ _Oh_ ,” is all Lance can say, throwing his hands over his mouth. In a matter of ticks Keith has his jeans and his boxers dragged down around his ankles, his fingers sinking bruises into the muscle of Lance’s legs, his lips wet and tight around Lance’s cock.

The brief notion that, someone, _anyone_ might come in flutters through Lance’s mind, but Keith slides his tongue along the bottom of his shaft and looks straight up at him. The eye contact jolts Lance down to his core and instantly obliterates any sense of concern. He moans and lowers his hands into Keith’s hair, scratching his nails against his scalp, grabbing close to the root, waiting to hear Keith’s hum of appreciation before slumping back hard against the surface of the healing pod.

Lance knows that Keith can completely incapacitate him with his mouth, and Keith takes no mercy on Lance.

It’s the way he bursts forward, no hesitation, taking Lance down as far as he can until he hits the back of his throat, swallowing around his sensitive head. The way he knows where to press with his tongue, how to pull back and then swallow him down again. One hand rises to work on whatever Keith doesn’t fit in his mouth, and then when Keith _does_ fit it in his mouth, goes to cup his balls, stroke his perineum. And the entire time Keith doesn't drag his eyes away from his face, like firelight shining.

Well, once or twice he does. And Lance doesn’t have to look behind him to know what Keith’s turning his attention to in those moments. The realization that they’re doing this mere inches from Shiro sends a shiver down Lance’s spine. Keith catches on and redoubles his efforts, drooling sloppily all over Lance’s cock when Lance gives a gentle tug on his hair.

His hand travels back, back, and Lance gives a sigh. Taking one of his hands out of Keith’s hair he doubles over to reach into his pocket, comes up with a small bottle of what they’re almost positive is alien lube. (At least, that’s what they’ve been using it as, and they’re not about to stop now.) Keith comes off Lance’s cock, sputtering at its abrupt appearance.

“What the hell, Lance?” he asks, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, though he looks more aroused than judgmental.

“I never know when you’re gonna jump me, alright?” Lance says defensively. “And I don’t want a repeat of that one time—”

“Alright, I get it,” Keith says, snatching the bottle from his hand. He opens it and proceeds to pour a liberal amount across his fingers, and then without any further dawdling, takes Lance’s cock entirely in his mouth again.

Lance waits for the stretch of the first finger, and it comes, slick and warm as he expects it. For someone so bold and reckless Keith is surprisingly gentle when he prepares Lance, working one finger in at a time, slowly stretching him out. The entire time Lance is painfully, _achingly_ aware of how Shiro is right behind him. He can’t feel Shiro’s warmth, he can’t hear his low, authoritative voice, but Shiro is _right here_. Lance could almost reach out and touch him. So close it could feasibly be Shiro’s fingers working inside of him right now, if he wasn’t asleep, if he wasn’t locked in the healing pod. Lance shuts his eyes, tugs against Keith’s hair, imagines how Shiro’s strong hands would take such good care of him.

Such good care of _them_.

It’s undeniably one of the biggest turn-ons Lance has ever experienced.

Keith has one finger in to the knuckle so he wriggles in a second. He stretches Lance out at the outside edge, all while tonguing ferociously at Lance’s slit. Lance’s knees go weak, he bucks further into Keith’s mouth because it’s _too much too fast_ , like everything else that Keith is. Afterwards, a third finger, while Lance is entirely buried in Keith’s mouth, pulling at his hair while Keith rumbles groans around him.

He’s feeling good and open when Keith finally withdraws, leaving him a tightened, frantic mess against the surface of the healing pod.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” Lance begs, feeling empty, cock leaking. The sight of Keith as he peels his jeans and boxers off his hips, drags them down his thighs and kicks them off his feet, is too much right now. Lance aches. He needs to be filled.

He’s not kept waiting for too long. Keith grabs one of Lance’s legs by the thigh, dizzyingly hard, and hoists it up, pushing Lance back against the cryo-pod while bringing his leg around himself. Lance clamps on, needy, and drags Keith in towards him. Keith scrambles to line himself up, and Lance bears down instinctively.

In this, though, in this Keith takes his time. He presses his lips to Lance’s, wraps a hand around his cock to keep him from getting too squirmy, but doesn’t press inside with any kind of urgency. Lance wonders if it’s because Shiro’s watching, if Keith feels like Shiro would be disappointed in him if he rushed, if he hurt him. Shiro probably would, but that doesn’t make Lance want to wait any longer.

So he grabs at Keith, pulls him closer. Keith seems to get the message, laying sloppy kisses on Lance’s jaw as he pushes inside. It’s not until he’s fully within him that Keith pulls back, looking first at Lance, and then turning his eyes upwards, presumably landing on Shiro’s unconscious face.

Lance swears he can feel Keith jerk inside of him.

And then Keith stars to move.

The first few thrusts are teasing, testing. Like Keith is feeling out the heat inside Lance’s body, exploring its give. Lance whines, tips his head back until it hits glass. Keith takes advantage of his exposed throat, diving in to nose at it, then pull some of the skin between his teeth. He sucks, hard, and Lance knows he’s going to have to, embarrassingly, ask Allura for that miraculous Altean cover-up again.

Then, _then_ , agonizingly, Keith speeds up. He mouths wetly at Lance’s windpipe until Lance’s fingers are shaking where they’ve grabbed onto his shoulders. Keith pulls his head away again, his face tilting upwards, his eyes refocusing somewhere beyond Lance.

“That’s—,” Lance manages to gasp, “that’s not fair. You get to— _ahh_ —look at him!”

Keith’s eyebrows shoot up, and he slows the pistoning of his hips. “You can, too, you know.”

Without a single additional word of warning, he yanks himself fully out of Lance, spins him around, and shoves him up against the cool glass of the pod. Lance, with a yelp, finds his front jostled roughly against it, his chest flat to its surface, his cheek and the side of his nose flattened. He’s gaping and empty and desperate but he takes the moment of respite, even as Keith readjusts himself, presses his hands into Lance’s hips and jerks them back towards him. Lance draws his eyes up.

The white healing uniform clings to every crevice of Shiro’s muscle, leaves no line of his body unfollowed, undefined, and Lance drinks in each delectable inch. His face is relaxed but darkened in sleep, the unnatural lighting of the pod making each curve sharp. He’s unbelievable, gorgeous, even unconscious. A moan fills Lance’s throat.

Keith lines up again, pushes inside. Lance’s cock drags against the glass of the cryo-pod as he does, leaving a slick smear of precome there. Lance is too caught up in the sweep of Shiro’s jaw to care that it’s dribbling down the surface, dripping into a growing puddle on the floor.

There’s a bite, a nip at his ear then. Keith’s breath is hot and wet, and his voice is even more so, making Lance’s knees weak. He props his shoulder forward as Keith talks, as Keith thrusts.

“Imagine waking up to this,” Keith growls, low and rich. “Imagine Shiro opening his eyes and the first thing he sees is your cock, your desperate expression, as I fuck you.”

Lance’s hands scrabble against the smooth glass as his knees shake.

“Bet he can hear,” Keith says, his voice breathless and rough, and Lance can feel the smirk in it, low in his gut. “Even in his sleep he can probably hear you moaning, and the sounds we’re making.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Lance chokes out. His entire body shudders with every breath he wrenches into his lungs.

“He’ll know,” Keith goes on. His own words are coming between heaving gasps, his fingers hot and tight on Lance’s hips. “He’ll know how dirty you are. And how much you want him.”

Lance can’t help but moan, thrusting his hips back to meet Keith’s.

“What about you?” he manages to say around his heavy breathing. “You too…he’ll know about you too—”

Keith grins against the side of Lance’s neck.

“Perfect.”

Without any warning, a violent jolt runs the entire length of Lance’s spine, body giving in to the taut pull and snapping. He babbles—Keith’s name, Shiro’s name—as Keith pushes him through it, murmuring praises against his ear. White splashes against the clear surface of the cryo-pod, splatters into thick shapes before drops of it roll towards the ground. Lance rests his forehead against the cool glass, face-to-face with Shiro’s broad chest, and tries to catch his breath as Keith gives one, two, three more thrusts.

Keith spills hot inside of him, Keith’s voice deep and burning as he moans. Lance basks in its heat, blinking the hot haze of orgasm away, before looking up at Shiro. _Close._ He’s so close, Lance could put his arms around him, pull him in tight, if it wasn’t for this healing pod. Lance can feel his cheeks heat up at the mortification of it.

They could never, ever tell Shiro about this.

Keith pulls out, helps tug Lance’s underwear and pants up. Lance is sticky, grimy. It’s wet and uncomfortable as he shifts, and, embarrassed, he turns away from Shiro to face Keith.

“You go shower,” Keith says. “I’ll clean up here.”

In another situation, Lance might argue just to be difficult. But it’s not like he’s going to sit here waiting for Shiro to wake up with cum drying in his ass.

_Though that could be interesting too—_

Lance waddles off to his room to go shower, and when he comes back, he’s surprised to find that Keith has pulled a pile of bedding onto the floor in front of the cryo-pod. He’s laying on his side, staring up at Shiro, and pats the blankets next to him when he hears Lance approach.

“You wouldn’t go rest in your room,” Keith says by way of explanation as Lance settles down behind him, wraps his arms about his torso.

Lance can feel his exhaustion pulling at him. Shiro’s still got awhile to cook in there, so a little nap wouldn’t hurt. He’s not going to miss it, camped out in front of the healing pod like this. Lance breathes in the scent of Keith’s hair.

“We’ll tell him when he wakes up,” Keith says.

“Mhmm,” Lance replies, already floating his way into unconsciousness.

As he shuts his eyes, the last thing he sees is Shiro’s face. It might be the angle, but Lance could swear that his expression has smoothed out completely, no longer harsh in the light, and the corners of his mouth are just slightly upturned, as if in a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> in case ur wonderin  
> as i was writing this i started thinking about what happens next and tbh this may just occur somewhere during the events of [what i have is right here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8417293) so they probably don’t even tell him when he’s out of the pod they wait to bang him on his lion lmao 
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/epiproctan) [tumblr](http://epiproctan.tumblr.com)


End file.
